


This is Not How it Happens

by TUNiU



Category: Merlin (TV), Merlin - Fandom
Genre: Time Travel Fix-It
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-01
Updated: 2019-04-01
Packaged: 2019-12-30 10:38:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18313829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TUNiU/pseuds/TUNiU
Summary: “Ever’ day, I see yer writin’ in ‘ere, wha’ ’re yer writin’ abou’?”“Choices.”Over and over again, Merlin makes different choices during The Best Ten Years of His Life. How else can he spend the centuries waiting for Arthur to return.





	This is Not How it Happens

**Author's Note:**

> Recovered from an old thumb drive. I gave this a quick read-through, and it seems complete. It was written not long after series 5 ended. I had just started watching Merlin's replacement, Atlantis, and that show started with Jason time travelling to ancient times with all his modern knowledge (which the show never again mentioned or used, wth). Anyways, this is a very strange fic. But enjoy.

The barrista places a coffee at the table where two men sit.

One says, “It’s finished.”

The other says, “Can I read it?”

The one who never dies says, “It’ll make you sad.”

The one who always dies says, “You defied destiny for me, I want to know how.” After, he says, “how many times did it take you to get it right?”

“I haven’t yet.”

The man who is not there disappears.

The man who is there continues to write.

\---------------------------

A man sits in a tavern-pub-bar-coffeeshop.

He is writing in a notebook, one of many he carries in his satchel. He is old, very old. Even when he is young, he is so very old.

And he is so very lonely.

Were anyone to look, they would see the notebooks are full of words and drawings, diagrams and scribblings. Parts are a coherent narrative, parts are insane ramblings.

No one ever looks.

\---------------------------

This is a true story…for given values of “true” and “story”.

\---------------------------

Then.

Arthur will rise again, when Albion’s need is greatest.

Now.

This is the biggest problem with waiting for Albion’s greatest need: Albion no longer exists. Kings rise and fall, countries splinter and reform; border lines get redrawn. Then again, did it ever exist? Was it ever more than a pipe dream? The fevered imaginings of an elderly storyteller? What use is destiny when one half of your coin is tarnished, decayed, drowned, dead? Is Merlin a sorcerer wishing (dreaming) he’s a man, or is he a man wishing (dreaming) he’s a sorcerer?

The years pass by now in twos and threes.

There are whole swathes of Merlin’s life he can no longer remember. The calendar on his smartphone says it’s 2013. What was he doing in 1935? 1663? 1432? America declared independence in 1776, was he there, did he help? ‘All men are created equal’ seems like an ideal he would have held back in Camelot, except Arthur was never the equal to anyone, no matter how much he yearned to be treated no differently than any other man.

When Arthur comes back, ( _if, if, if_ , whispers the voice of reason, of sleepless nights spent wondering, spent locked in madhouses), Merlin wants to recognize him. No handy camera phones to capture the glow of sunlight off Arthur’s hair, the determined brow, the happy smile. Merlin has nothing but his memory and endless quills and pens.

\---------------------------

The tavern wench-barmaid-waitress-server places a pint at the table of an elderly man, who sits scribbling in a notebook.

“Ever’ day, I see yer writin’ in ‘ere, wha’re yer writin’ abou’?”

“Loneliness.”

There can only ever be one Rising Sun tavern, whose footprint has long faded into memory, where Gwaine had a brawl every fortnight. Merlin misses the sound of breaking crockery and laughter.

\---------------------------

Drugs are a lovely thing. Merlin spends days, weeks, months high off his head. Uppers, downers, left and right. It’s an escape. Much of his life passes by like this, laying in opium dens and later, crack houses. Over and over, he relives THE decade, the most important ten years of his life. From “do I know you” to “thank you.”

One day, Merlin takes too much of the latest drug and lives his life and his lies again. It’s so real. It’s so heartbreaking. It makes him want to die, but he’d just come back--he always comes back.

He takes the drug again. The world he visits is so much better than the world he leaves.

He wakes often in fields and mortuaries. Too often. The crystal caves are still accessible to his magic; nestled in a bit of forest that will never see industry. Protected by whatever creatures of magic still persist through times of science. He spends his dreams surrounded by roughhewn lattices reflecting the past, present and future.

On one of Merlin’s trips down the rabbit hole of his memory, he changes one little thing, and watches to see how the rest plays out differently. His imagination is so much more powerful these days, like that room on the telly, change the parameters and play your part, from Sherwood Forest to We’ll Always Have Paris.

A thought begins to percolate in his mind. Who’d want to stay for decades in a dream? Depends on the dream. Has he overdosed yet, like so many times before? It doesn’t matter, he can’t die, though he’s tried--tired and lonely.

\---------------------------

The following is a true and faithful account of Merlin’s life in Camelot…for given values of “true” and “Merlin”.

On his last day in his home village of Ealdor, Merlin wakes to his mother calling his name. He eats the food she makes him. He kisses her cheek. He takes his pack and starts on the days-long walk to Camelot. This will be the furthest away he’s ever travelled from home.

Along the way, nothing happens to him. No bandits, no magical creatures, no villainous plots. Odd. Once he meets Arthur, everyone and everything is going to be gunning for them. A new plot every week.

Merlin stops in his tracks; what a strange thought that was; who’s Arthur? And what’s a gun?

The world answers.

A world’s worth of knowledge unfolds into his brain. For hours, he lays curled in a ball, crying, weeping from a millennium of misery.

Merlin stands up with the knowledge of events which have happened but which will now not happen because he’s not going to be such a damn fool this time.

 

His boots, (good, sturdy boots, they lasted a long time, those boots-- _will_ last a long time), crunch the grass as he crests the hill and gets his first-ever (his first in millennia, the castle will not survive the decay of time) view of Camelot, his home.

 

A man is executed in the square for sorcery, a mother vows her revenge. Morgana shows the first sign of who she is, (not the first, how many times did she disagree with the King before Merlin arrived and sent her faster down her path?)

Merlin watches from the shadows of the portcullis. This is where it all started. He can change everything, _can make it better_. One carefully timed spell from him kills Uther the moment the elderly Mary points at him. The crowd panics, the guards kill Mary. Arthur is crowned and swears revenge on the magic which stole two parents from him.

Merlin never becomes Arthur’s manservant. Camelot continues as it did under Uther’s reign. Morgana goes slowly mad after Arthur beheads a druid boy who was, only seconds ago, cradled in her arms. There is a war with King Bayard. There is drought, famine. It takes years, but slowly, inexorably, Camelot crumbles from within.

Finally, Merlin can take the twisted caricature of King Arthur no more and…

Blood drips from the bedspread, dyeing the sheets a red to match the drapes. Arthur lays abed, arm outstretched towards his sword—the last motion of a dying man. His blank eyes still stare at Merlin.

Merlin could not bear his presence: Arthur-worse-than-Uther.  Killing Arthur was a mercy on the wretched remains of Camelot’s people.

This is not his Arthur.

Merlin’s heart wrenches—he’s killed Arthur.

This is not better.

\---------------------------

His boots crunch the grass as he crests the hill and gets his first-ever views of Camelot.

\---------------------------

A man is executed in the square for sorcery, a mother vows her revenge. Morgana shows the first sign of who she is.

Merlin waits to enter the physician chambers, Gaius doesn’t fall. Merlin doesn’t use magic to save him.

He stays out of sight, makes no waves, and doesn’t get invited to listen to Lady Helen (Mary) sing. Arthur dies.

A voice, gravely and large, shouts in his mind, “ _Merlin, no man can choose his destiny_ ” but Merlin is no man. _“You are magic itself.”_

\---------------------------

A man is executed in the square for sorcery, a mother vows her revenge.

Save Gaius, sputter denials. Make waves, get in a fight with Arthur.

“Do I know you?” Arthur asks.

“No.” _Yes._

“Yet, you called me friend.” A slip of the tongue, of ten years of memories and friendship.

Merlin looks upon him, properly, for the first time, (in days, centuries). His Arthur.

\---------------------------

They’re so close to the lake, but Arthur won’t make it. “Just, just, just hold me.” They fall to the ground. Merlin clutches at Arthur, but the plate and chainmail stop him getting a better hold. It’s awkward, and Arthur is dying, and Merlin wants to reach in, give him everything, anything, to stop the light leaving his eyes.

Arthur knows. For ten years, Merlin has kept his magic a secret, and now Arthur knows, and now they have no tomorrows to become great; a King and His Court Sorcerer bringing peace and prosperity to the land.

“There’s something I want to say,” Arthur says.

Merlin denies the truth of the world. “You’re not saying goodbye.”

“No, everything you’ve done, I know now, for me, for Camelot, for the kingdom you helped me build.” Arthur’s gasping now, only seconds left.

“You’d have done it without me.”

“Maybe.” Merlin can see the life draining from Arthur’s eyes. “I want to say something I’ve never said to you before…

…Thank you.”

\---------------------------

Arthur had once said to him, _“No man is worth your tears.”_

Merlin had once replied, _“You’re certainly not.”_

Arthur will return, when Albion’s need is greatest. But what about Merlin’s need?

\---------------------------

The tavern wench-barmaid-waitress-server places a pint at the table of an elderly man, who sits scribbling in a notebook.

“Ever’ day, I see yer writin’ in ‘ere, wha’re yer writin’ abou’?”

“A love story.”

\---------------------------

“What are you staring at, you buffoon?” the prince demands.

“I’d never have a friend who could be such an arse.” For a moment, Merlin forgets that this is Arthur from before, from before Merlin could get away with insults as a way to keep his Prince and his King honest and humble.

Merlin doesn’t go sleep that first night. He uses his magic speed to sneak past a frozen Gaius reading the letter from Hunith. He makes his way, for the first time, for the hundredth time, down to the dungeons. The dragon sleeps on his rocks.

“O drakon! Listen and obey me!”

Kilgarrah snorts awake, heeling under the dragonlord’s power. Of course Merlin has his dragonlord powers, though his father Balinor lives in this moment. What’s the use in going back, if you don’t get to keep your centuries of level grinding?

“I’m here.” Kilgarrah says. “How small you are for such a great destiny.”

Does he play the ignorant simpleton he once was, or does he kill the dragon, free the dragon, talk to the dragon with the riddles the dragon so loves? Does it matter?

“Kill yourself!” ends with the dragon self-immolating in an explosion so large, the cavern collapses. So does the castle, built atop the cavern. Oops.

\---------------------------

A man is executed in the square for sorcery…

 “How small you are for such a great destiny,” Kilgarrah says.

“Yes, we’ve done this before,” Merlin says. “Once and future king, two sides of the same coin, kill Morgana and Mordred before they kill Arthur.”

The dragon blinks in surprise, “what are you doing, young warlock?”

“Oy, less of the young, if you please.”

“The magics of foresight are not so easily toyed with!” Kilgarrah seems truly ruffled.

If there is one person (thing) Merlin can be honest with, it’s his inner dragon. None of this can be real. If he closes his eyes and concentrates hard enough he can smell an atmosphere full of petrol, industry, the general Welsh miasma of centuries future.

Is a crazy person still crazy if he knows he’s crazy?

“What is real to an untapped fount of magic?” Does the Dragon sound pleading?

Stop. Boring conversation anyways.

“O drakon! Listen and obey me!”

 “I shall free you, but you must never harm nor cause to harm Camelot or the peoples of Camelot.” A spell breaks the dragon’s chains. “Now leave!” and the dragons flaps his giant wings and leaves.

To become Arthur’s manservant means to wait and kill Lady Helen at the same time he did before, after the party, during her aria.

“She looks great, doesn’t she,” Gwen says to Merlin about the Lady Morgana. “Some people are just born to be queen.” In so many ways this is true. In a fair world, as Uther’s first born, Morgana should be queen upon his death. In a slightly less fair, slightly weird world, Morgana and Arthur could rule together as sibling-spouses like in the Egypt of old. In an unfair world, Morgana grows bitter and steals the crown for herself.

This is what’s known as ironic foreshadowing.

“I hope so, one day,” Gwen continues.

So is this.

“Not that I’d want to be her, who’d want to marry Arthur?”

And this.

Lady Helen sings. The chandelier falls. Lady Helen is Mary is throwing the knife at Arthur.

Merlin saves Arthur. Merlin can never not save Arthur, not with the warm feeling in his heart. He loves this man.

“You shall be awarded a position in the royal house,” Uther proclaims. “You shall be Prince Arthur’s manservant.”

Prince Arthur is not amused.

\---------------------------

Is this his reward? His punishment? A chance to relive the best years of his life ad naseum? Knowing what he knows, he thinks he’ll take it. He surely has decades of reliving, of tweaking, of making different choices— _better choices_ \-- before he becomes bored, and anything is better than walking the same country lane, past the same decaying lake, to the same old pub and drowning his sorrows in the same drink and drug.

Once, for variety, he jumped in front of an oncoming lorry.

\---------------------------

This is not how it happens:

A bright-eyed blonde man doesn’t run across the high street, screaming “MERLIN” at an old man having a drink in the window seat of an internet cafe.

A cheeky woman doesn’t walk into a tea and spice shop and say to the elderly proprietor, “I don’t know why, but I remember you.”

Arthur, still clad in his armor, doesn’t rise from the lake, to meet a young man smoking. “Honestly, Merlin, stop lazing about and get my armor off before it rusts.”

An young-old boy-man doesn’t bump into a student-lawyer-doctor-politician. Magic doesn’t rush back into the land, with the snap of dragon’s wings.

\---------------------------

Merlin’s first day of employment goes much the same as his first day of employment went.

“Shouldn’t you be studying?” Gaius asks Merlin when he collapses on his bed after the morning’s enforced sword practice.

There’s a book on the table, that the Lord Chamberlain gave Merlin upon his employment. In it, are the rules of courtly etiquette, what a manservant can and cannot do, and everything Arthur expects Merlin to know for the upcoming tournament.

That’s the beauty of whatever he’s going through. There are just some things he doesn’t have to do. This includes talking to the dragon and studying things he now already knows after years—the best years of his life—tending Arthur.

“Where did you learn that?” Arthur questions, when Merlin armors him as quickly and efficiently as if he’d done it a thousand times, because he has, because he knows every link, every rivet.

“Doesn’t matter.”

The snakes on Valiant’s shield come alive and poison Knight Ewan.

“Bebe o do thay, aresan quicken.”

Merlin kills the snakes alone in the armoury.

Merlin is never proven right in Arthur’s eyes. Now Arthur has no reason to trust Merlin. The next week, Nimueh attacks the water supply. Gwen is charged with sorcery. Arthur does not defend Merlin when Merlin proclaims he is the sorcerer instead.

Being beheaded is the strangest sensation a person can have for three seconds.

\---------------------------

Merlin pauses with the sword outstretched about to call the snakes forth. Best not.

He takes the shield to Arthur’s rooms and shows Arthur how the snakes come forth. Arthur’s trust in Merlin is put to the test. Merlin doesn’t notice the dagger until its buried deep in his chest with Arthur’s fist wrapped around the hilt. So, lesson learned. Within his first week of employment is too soon to reveal his magic to Arthur.

Arthur has no trust in Merlin.

\---------------------------

“Bebe o do thay, aresan quicken.”

Stand in the wrong spot and the entire audience sees the magic. Valiant is exonerated. Arthur is pissed. Gaius is fearful. Uther is wrathful.

\---------------------------

The snakes on Valiant’s shield come alive and poison Knight Ewan.

Cut off a head, give it to Gaius for the cure, give it to Arthur for the proof. Don’t forget to save the Knight when the snake comes back.

“Bebe o do thay, aresan quicken.”

Right time, right place. Everything happens as it should. Arthur has trust in Merlin. Uther is proud of his son.

But why is he reliving his life (foremembering future possibilities?) if not to change things? What has he really done with this opportunity: skipped some studying and magic learning. Is that it?

Right now, Morgana is a charming woman with fire in her blood and love in her heart.

_“The witch must never come into her powers!”_

At what point is Morgana past saving?

\---------------------------

The next time Morgana comes to Gaius for a sleeping draught, Merlin removes her. A few drops of hemlock added to the mixture and Morgana dies in her sleep. No one is the wiser.

Her maid, Gwen is dismissed from her castle service. She works the forge with her father.

Now that Morgana is gone, Edwin poisons Arthur instead and once again blames it on Gaius. Uther is distraught, unable to listen to reason. Gaius is not only dismissed, he is imprisoned. But Merlin doesn’t need his expertise anyways. He saves Arthur, but now Uther is dying.

Is this a changing point? Let Uther die and Arthur becomes king.

Long live King Arthur.

Now Arthur is resentful of Merlin’s magic. “Surely you could have done something.” Having not learned the true price of magic, he blames Merlin for letting his father die.

Theirs is not a legendary friendship.

\---------------------------

The next time Morgana comes to Gaius for a sleeping draught, Merlin does nothing.

\---------------------------

Lancelot comes. The Gryphon attacks.

The Gryphon is defeated. Lancelot leaves and with him a thought takes hold in Gwen’s heart.

\---------------------------

Mercia arrives, and Nimueh attacks. Killing Nimueh when he bumps into her in the corridor is convenient.

Merlin never has to prove there’s poison in Arthur’s goblet by drinking it himself. Arthur never risks his father’s wrath to save him back. Later, it seems less meaningful when Arthur drinks poison for Merlin at the Labyrinth. The relationship is off kilter, but Merlin doesn’t have long to wonder how to fix it. There’s no one to bargain with on the Isle of the Blessed and Arthur dies from the questing beast.

\---------------------------

Merlin doesn’t think he can ever truly forgive Mordred for what he did nine years from now. But when he kills the druid boy, Morgana finds out and hates him.

Letting the druid boy be found by the patrols is no better. Mordred escapes and swears vengeance, again. When, later, Morgause comes to challenge Arthur, she brings with her the boy. When she sees Morgana is not so malleable and desperate for a connection, she twists the boy to suit her needs.

During the sleeping sickness, Merlin poisons Mordred. Morgause comes and they leave.

Everything Morgana did, Mordred now does. It’s such a perfect substitution. Maybe the world is trying to tell him something.

Merlin keeps everything the same for the years to come, as a way to study the outcomes. He has no intention of keeping this timeline since he knows the events are leading him and Arthur back to Camlann. Years later, Arthur’s death happens as it happened.

Long live the queen.

\---------------------------

Merlin tries turning the boy and his father away at the gate. When he identifies as Emrys, the father genuflects and prostrates himself, right where the guards at the portcullis can see.

Merlin doesn’t even bother seeing where this chain of events will lead. A thought later and he’s starting the day in his chambers again. He works through the day waiting for Mordred’s subvocal plea.

This time Merlin rescues the boy from where he’s hiding under a wheelbarrow. There’s nothing to be done for the father, sadly.

“Now listen here, you little shit!” is not what Merlin says once they’re alone in his bedroom.

“From now on you’re my son,” is what Merlin says once they’re alone in his bedroom.

And so Mordred is announced to the court i.e. Morgana, Arthur, Gwen, and Gaius as Merlin’s son just come from Ealdor.

Which works perfectly, until Ealdor gets attacked and his mother, Hunith, proclaims “Who’s this, then?” in front of everyone.

\---------------------------

“From now on you’re my son.”

Merlin writes a letter to Hunith telling her to play along.

\---------------------------

In Ealdor, when Arthur asks who made that most fortuitous whirlwind, Merlin takes responsibility.

There’s a moment where Arthur is distracted, then Kanaan’s crossbow bolt reaches his heart and he dies.

\---------------------------

In Ealdor, when Arthur asks who made that most fortuitous whirlwind, Merlin takes responsibility.

There’s a moment where Arthur is distracted, Merlin turns around and kills Kanaan with a gesture, his raised crossbow falling to the ground.

Arthur walks away conflicted. It’s a begrudging acceptance. He keeps away from Merlin during the victory celebrations, lit by the funeral fires of their enemies.

Arthur doesn’t seem receptive to any magical advice. He still kills the unicorn. Then he can’t accept that there’s nothing Merlin can do, thinks Merlin is holding out for something: money, a better position, as if Prince’s manservant wasn’t good enough. “Is that why you saved my life, to ingratiate yourself into this household!?”

At the Labyrinth of Gedref, Arthur does not drink the poison. Merlin is hurt and surprised, but he plays his part, and drinks it himself.

That is not a noble sacrifice.

Camelot falls.

\---------------------------

In Ealdor, when Arthur asks who made that most fortuitous whirlwind, Will takes responsibility.

There’s a moment where Arthur is distracted, Merlin pushes him out of the path of the bolt.

Merlin is released from his chores for the week it takes his arm to heal.

\---------------------------

As soon as he gets the water of life from Nimueh, he kills her to save himself the trouble of having to do it later. She never played any further role in his life.

\---------------------------

This is how it happens:

One day, far into the future, every magic user will have died off, save one. A servant, sometimes old, sometimes young, will roam the countryside waiting for his lost master. After years and decades of reliving past glories, he will gather to himself every drop of magic in the world and cast himself back to a long erased lakeside.

They’re so close to the lake, but Arthur won’t make it. “Just, just, just hold me.” They fall to the ground. Merlin clutches at Arthur, but the plate and chain stop him getting a better hold. It’s awkward, and Arthur is dying, and Merlin wants to reach in, give him everything, anything, to stop the light leaving his eyes.

This is the end. A battle thought long avoided sprung up, a rebellion was quashed, but not before a killing stroke. Now they have no more tomorrows to enjoy; a King and His Court Sorcerer bringing peace and prosperity to the land.

“There’s something I want to say,” Arthur says.

Merlin denies the truth of the world. “You’re not saying goodbye.”

“No, everything you’ve done, for me, for Camelot, for the kingdom you helped me build.” Arthur’s gasping now, only seconds left.

An old man approaches the pair, he’s crying, blubbering. “Take it! Take it all! I don’t want it anymore.” He kisses Arthur.

A wind blows from nowhere, and the old man collapses. He decays to bones, to dust, to nothing.

Arthur coughs and sits up. Now they have eternity together, until Albion’s need is greatest.

Merlin and Arthur return to Camelot.

Long live the king.

This is not how it happens.

\---------------------------

“Merlin!” Arthur voice bellows into the servants’ chamber, where Merlin is currently polishing Arthur’s sword, cleaning his tunic and reading a book, (magic: the greatest multi-tasker since the computer). The noise of men with pickaxes echoes through the castle. “I want you to go down there and tell them to stop.”

As before, Uther gets the idea of mining the catacombs under Camelot for the buried treasure of his predecessors. Merlin spares a moment to wonder just how unstable the land beneath the castle must be, with the amount of holes under it. It’s a wonder the castle hasn’t fallen; of course, he did make it fall that one time.

Once again, the vault of Cornelius Sigan is unearthed. However the Curse of Cornelius Sigan is avoided with a few well-placed spells. No one will die. The stone gargoyles will stay inanimate upon their perches.

Of course now he has to deal with the obsequious efforts of a thief named Cedric in his quest to get the tombs keys from Arthur.

He could kill Cedric, but is he that type of man?

Yes, let’s find out, he already killed Nimueh, what’s one more.

Yes, he can kill all of Arthur’s enemies before they ever get the idea to bother Camelot. He knows what the villains will do, how many people they’ll hurt. He knows all the mistakes Arthur will make over the next nine years. It will be better this way.

\---------------------------

The world shifts wrongly.

\---------------------------

The tavern wench-barmaid-waitress-server places a pint at the table of an elderly man, who sits scribbling in a notebook.

“Ever’ day, I see yer writin’ in ‘ere, wha’ ’re yer writin’ abou’?”

“King Arthur.”

She frowns, “who?”

On his smartphone, the internet search shows no results. There is no historical mention of King Arthur; no knights of the round table, no grail sagas. There are no books, or movies, no BBC dramas.

Arthur has gone from the world. All that remains is the passing mention of a wizard terrible, a murderous tyrant who roamed Briton slaughtering innocent people.

He stares at the words he just wrote on the page, _“He knows all the mistakes Arthur will make over the next nine years. It will be better this way.”_ But it was just a story. A way to pass the time until Arthur returned. It wasn’t real.

 _“What is real to an untapped fount of magic?”_ the Dragon’s voice echoes in his head.

Merlin quails at the enormity of what he’s just done.

\---------------------------

He could kill Cedric, but is he that type of man?

Yes. Maybe. No.

Down this path lies madness. Merlin can’t kill all of Arthur’s enemies before Arthur has a chance to face them, can he? If he does, what sort of King would Arthur become, having been unmanned by his servant all these years? What sort of man would Merlin become, killing people because of something they might do?

He’d become Uther.

He thinks of the camaraderie built between a servant and his master; and how none of that would exist if they never faced adversity together.

Merlin just leaves the tomb keys in an easy to reach location.

“I know I’m just a servant. And my word doesn’t count for anything. But I overheard him at the tavern. I wouldn’t lie to you.

“I’m trusting you with the keys to a room full of treasure. I want you to swear to me, what you’re telling me is true.”

“I swear it’s true.”

“Then I believe you.”

He and Arthur watch Cedric take the bait. They follow him to the tomb and arrest him there.

\---------------------------

This is how it happens.

Arthur is in an uncharacteristically good mood. It won’t last long, Merlin will say or do something, or some new chimera of a creature with _“the body of a lion, the wings of an eagle, and the face of a bear”_ will attack, and the chance will be gone.

Is now the right time?

When was the right time? Not, “I’m a sorcerer, I have magic, and I use it for you Arthur,” said weeping as Arthur lay dying. That was the last time, the last possible moment of ten years of moments.

“I have magic, like Morgana, like Mordred.”

If it all goes pear-shaped, well, he can always try again.

Arthur looks at him for a moment. “Morgana?”

Merlin nods, and then begins removing Arthur’s armor, after a long day of training.

“So you’re accusing a member of the royal household of sorcery.”

Merlin shrugs. “Sure, if that’s what you want to focus on.”

Arthur’s face goes through several expressions, all along the lines of ‘you idiot.’ “Have you suddenly become suicidal?”

“Well, there was that time with the guillotine.” The French Revolution was useful for many things, including experiencing death in a myriad novel ways.

“The what?”

“Hasn’t been invented yet.” Or has it? There were lots of things in Camelot that history said shouldn’t be. Merlin thinks back to all the tomatoes that were thrown at him in the stocks his first time around. Luckily, experience has allowed him to avoid the stocks all his other times round.

“MERLIN!”

“ARTHUR!”

Arthur, outraged, grabs the nearest object to hand, a water skin, and throws it.

Merlin freezes it in midair.

“Huh. Really?”

Merlin nods.

This is how it happens.

\---------------------------

Arthur or Lancelot.

Gwen suffered for her choices.

Arthur suffered for her choices.

History does not think well of her.

Betting on tournaments he knows the outcomes to has netted Merlin a tidy sum. Enough to buy a house in the lower town. It’s not much, the same size as his mum’s house in Ealdor. But now, when Arthur gets his Prince and Pauper idea, he has a place to stay that’s not in Guinevere’s home.

Because Merlin wants to see what happens if Gwen goes with Lancelot this time around.

\---------------------------

“Hello, Arthur.” Mordred sits at the table, doing his sums.

“Hello, Mordred.”

Merlin kisses his boy’s head. Maybe with affection, Mordred will turn out differently. “Mordred, you must not tell anyone that Arthur is here, alright.”

“Yes, father.”

“Go on, Gaius is waiting for you.” Mordred makes a much better physician’s assistant that Merlin ever did.

Merlin is never surprised to see Mordred in his house. That is to say, Merlin is always surprised to see Mordred in his house, but it’s the price of the time skips. Sometimes Mordred is alive, sometimes dead, sometimes his son, sometimes his mortal enemy, depending on the choices Merlin erases throughout the days. Acting surprised because you have a son living with you that you didn’t know about is a quick way to raise suspicions. It’s easier to just roll with it.

\---------------------------

The tavern wench-barmaid-waitress-server places a pint at the table of an elderly man, who sits scribbling in a notebook.

“Ever’ day, I see yer writin’ in ‘ere, wha’ ’re yer writin’ abou’?”

“Choices.”

\---------------------------

Arthur proves that, yes, he can win a tournament without anyone pulling their punches because he’s the (once and) future king. He proves that he will not stand to be treated specially because of his status. More importantly, he learns humility.

Merlin thinks of a place where all men are created equal.

Along the way, Merlin proves that his abilities at forging patents of nobility have improved in leaps and bounds.

The no-longer-sir William uses his tournament winnings to improve the conditions at his farm.

\---------------------------

Morgana has a nightmare and sets her curtains alight. The King and Prince see it as an attack. Merlin sees it as a new beginning. The day he knew was coming on this path, ever since he let Morgana live all those months ago.

Gaius is convinced that the best thing would be to keep Morgana’s powers from her. Once, Merlin deferred to him, as the fount of goodness and wisdom to his inexperience. Now, Merlin has nothing but time to discover the right decision.

When Morgana comes crying to Gaius for help, Merlin makes sure he is the one she finds first. In a disused storage room under the physician’s tower, Merlin shows Morgana the truth.

She thanks him.

After, alone in his room, Merlin weeps. Years of heartache and strife, centuries of pain and what-ifs, and if he’d just told the truth…

Years later, Arthur will enjoy watching the two of them playfully practicing magic, as an escape from Kingly duties.

\---------------------------

The events pass by now faster and faster. But Merlin is wiser. He doesn’t need a showy form of magic when a whispered idea in the right ear at the right time derails whole evil schemes. Gwen is never Morgana is never kidnapped, never finds Lancelot.

Merlin lets Arthur have the trollish-step mother, because that episode of their life is never not funny. And it all turned out all right in the end.

Aredian never comes, since Merlin has learned the most important lesson of all: when _not_ to use magic.

Morgana is never so desperate for a connection that she lets Morgause manipulate her. With Merlin at her side, Morgana is better and understands the necessity of waiting.

Merlin’s second year at Camelot passes without him having to poison anyone to stop a sleeping sickness.

\---------------------------

…Merlin has lost track.

It hits him as he attends Arthur during council. He can’t recognize half the councilors. Differing treaties have redrawn Camelot’s lines on the map. Morgana sits to Arthur’s left—Queen. Caerleon sits midway down the table—faintly Merlin can remember Arthur’s uncle killing him the first time—who is Arthur’s uncle? Queen Ygraine’s brother Tristan—no, he’s dead…the other one. Who?

Merlin can’t remember.

He can’t.

He was supposed to be making things better, wasn’t he?

There’s a baby sleeping strapped to his chest

This is better.

Is this better?

 

\---------------------------

The tavern wench-barmaid-waitress-server places a pint at the table of an elderly man, who sits scribbling in a notebook.

“Ever’ day, I see yer writin’ in ‘ere, wha’ ’re yer writin’ abou’?”

“History.”

\---------------------------

This is how it happens.

If an anthropomorphic personification of magic existed, it would be fretting.

No, it would be terrified.

As the fabric of reality grew thinner around one lone sorcerer, Magic would tremble in awe.

“He’s going to tear it all apart,” he/she/it would say.

“Then give him what he wants,” the Dragon would reply.

“I can’t just upset the balance of the world, Albion doesn’t need _him_ yet.”

The Dragon would laugh mirthlessly. “How unbalanced is the world now that the sorcerer is meddling with history?”

\---------------------------

Two men meet when one opens his door to a knock. No one should be knocking. He chose this house, in the middle of nowhere, down a forest lane, specifically so no one would knock.

One says, “I waited for you, for centuries.”

And, “I can’t believe it’s you.”

The other says, “You left me in a lake! If this armor rusts it’ll be on your head.”

Also, “what are you wearing?!”

This is how it happens.

This is not how it happens.

\---------------------------

The barrista places a coffee at the table where two men sit.

One is named Merlin.

One is named Arthur.

One says, “It’s not finished.”

The other says, “Can I read it?”

The one who never dies says, “It’ll make you sad.”

The one who always dies says, “You defied destiny for me, I want to know how.” After, he says, “how many times did it take you to get it right?”

“Does it matter? You’re here, now.”

\---------------------------

This is not how it happens.


End file.
